“Got what?” he said. “No, he hasn’t got the money. It’s all there.” He seized her by the arm, for she seemed as if intending to go through the broken window. “Not the money--not the money,” she shrieked, wringing her hands; “the paper--the certificate! He’s got it and gone, this way, through the window.” Barron grasped the fact that she had been robbed of something other than the money, the loss of which seemed to render her half distracted. With a hasty word of reassurance, he turned and ran from the room, springing down the stairs and across the hall. In the instant’s pause by the window he had heard the sound of feet on the steps below and judged that he could get down more quickly by the stairs than by the limb of the tree. But the few minutes’ start and the darkness of the night were on the side of the thief. The roar of the rain drowned his footsteps. Barron ran this way and that, but neither sight nor sound of his quarry was vouchsafed to him. The man had got away with his booty, whatever it was. [Illustration: “WITH THE STRENGTH OF HER HEALTHY YOUTH SHE STRUGGLED WITH HIM”] In fifteen minutes Barron was back and found the Garcia ladies in Mariposa’s room, ministering to the girl who lay in a heavy swoon, stark and white on the hearth-rug. The old lady, in some wondrous and intimate déshabille, greeted him eagerly in Spanish, demanding what had happened. He told her all he knew and knelt down beside the younger Mrs. Garcia, who was attempting with a shaking hand to pour brandy between Mariposa’s set teeth. “We heard the most awful shrieks, and we rushed up, and here she was standing and screaming: ‘He’s got it! He’s got it!’ And then she fell flat, quite suddenly, and has lain here this way ever since.” “It was a robber,” said the old woman, looking at the scattered gold, “but he didn’t get her money. What was it he took, I wonder?” “Some papers, I think,” said Barron, “that were evidently of value to her. I’ll lift her up and put her on the bed and then I’ll go. As soon as she’s conscious ask her what the man took and come and tell me, and I’ll go right to the police station.” “Oh, don’t leave us,” implored Mrs. Garcia, junior--“if there are burglars anywhere round. Oh, please don’t go. Pierpont’s away and we’d have no man in the house. Don’t go till morning. I’m just as scared as I can be!” “There’s nothing to be scared about. The man’s got what he wanted, and he’ll take precious good care not to come back.” “Oh, but don’t go till it gets light. The window’s broken and any one can come in who wants.” “All right, I’ll wait till it gets light. I’ll lift her up now, if you’ll get the bed ready.” With the assistance of old Mrs. Garcia he lifted her and carried her to the bed. One of her arms fell limp against his shoulder as he laid her down, and the old lady uttered an exclamation. She lifted it up and showed him a curious red welt on the white wrist. “It’s a burn,” she said. “How did she get that?”